


Let Me In

by chillsoya



Category: Buzzfeed Unsolved (Web Series)
Genre: Blogger Shane, Implied Sexual Content, M/M, Mild Sexual Content, Mind-reader Ryan, POV Shane, Performer Ryan, Psychic Ryan, Ryan goes by an alias, Sexual Tension, Shane Uncovers 'Supernatural' Hoaxes, Shyan Mini Bang 2019, Shyan Writing Events, Suggestive Themes, Supernatural Elements, Supernatural Ryan, Youtuber Shane, circus performer, skeptic Shane
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-14
Updated: 2019-04-14
Packaged: 2020-01-13 11:33:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,073
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18468097
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chillsoya/pseuds/chillsoya
Summary: Shane uncovers 'supernatural' hoaxes for a living, and Ryan performs at a circus as a fortune teller and mindreader. Shane refuses to believe even as Ryan knocks down each of his theories, one by one. In the end, the truth as Shane wants it may not be the most important thing.





	Let Me In

**Author's Note:**

> DISCLAIMERS ETC:
> 
> For a large part of this fic, Ryan goes by the stage name of 'Akitoshi' (AKITOSHI m Japanese  
> From Japanese 晃 (aki) meaning "clear" combined with 智 (toshi) meaning "wisdom; knowledge; intelligence". Other kanji combinations are possible, https://www.behindthename.com/submit/names/gender/masculine/usage/japanese) This is in reference to his gift, and because a lot of stage acts related to psychics/fortune reading tend to be heavy on cultural influences etc and because 'Ryan' doesn't quite ring as a stage name. There is some use of terms such as 'exotic' to describe Ryan, and this is NOT something I personally condone - this is all taking reference from how psychics are typically advertised, and the aesthetic of fortune tellers in general which is sometimes culturally appropriative or insensitive. Don't take the beliefs conveyed by such adverts/imagery in this fic as representative of my own beliefs. Shane does not use these terms personally in the fic, either.
> 
> That being said, I hope you enjoy it! This is not the direction I intended to go in for this event, but I'm happy with how it came out.

Shane breathed in the scent of roasting peanuts and slowly charring popcorn. The music was reverberating around his mind, but it didn’t distract him; there was a lot to see, and the main event was drawing near. A garishly painted booth selling burgers and hotdogs gave off the smell of grease and meat, and Shane crossed towards it instinctually. A pockmarked teen with a painted face looked down at him from their elevated station and boredly took his order. Shane watched them shovel burnt onions on top of the pasty-looking bun and steaming meat, and unhooked a film bag filled with sticky cotton candy tied off with a foil strip.

Shane paid, took the paper tray with his hotdog and the bag of candy floss, and stepped away over the dusty, track-lined ground. He was waiting, and had been for some time now. He had watched the big tent in its red and white stripes slowly light up, string lights coming up groggily, dim yellow lighting filtering through the gap in the entrance flaps. Some people came and went, in plain clothes or intricate costume. This circus was worn out in its appearance, but it had pull - the attractions were popular, and people kept on coming back.

He had an idea why.

The advert in the paper had professed contortionists, exotic animals, dancers, magicians with card tricks and glamorous assistants. None of that interested Shane, though he could appreciate such novelty. At the bottom of the list was the act he was most interested in; a psychic, or mind reader.

From exotic lands comes our famed psychic. Sit before him and he can read your mind, and tell you anything about yourself - things even you may not know. For one night per week, he will read the minds of anyone brave enough to step forward. Open yourself up to the divine!

It had come on the back of a flier pushed through Shane’s front door downtown, a flier he read over breakfast with mild interest. Above this was a print of a single eye staring out of the yellow paper, watching Shane consider.

There was no way that it was legitimate. Shane knew that, because he had at least a lick of common sense. He wasn’t concerned with the supernatural, because there was none. Only scared people and active imaginations. That belief, his unshakeable conviction, was what drew him towards what he did, day in, day out. He disproved supernatural occurrences, uncovered hoaxes, saved people from paying money out to so-called psychics and ghost hunters who preyed on the vulnerable. He saw it as a kind of justice that he was serving, though not everyone agreed. At least his blog was popular, and the videos he made disproving common practices of ghost hunters; his explanation of the flashlight trick had gotten a lot of views at this point.

Really, this would probably be a pathetic gimmick. Maybe even a waste of his time. The only reason Shane was remotely interested was because it was a guy they were talking about; these psychic types were usually women made to look ethnically ambiguous in culturally appropriative clothing. Sure, the ethnically ambiguous part was already checked off - ‘exotic lands’ made him physically cringe - but that there was a man being peddled off as a clairvoyant or some shit was a lucrative possibility, for the novelty at least.

So here Shane was, wiping ketchup from his upper lip and throwing away his trash. He started to pick at the cotton candy absently as people began to trail towards the big tent, laden with prizes won from the different games dotted around, holding drinks and food. The sun was dipping lower in the sky, filling the grounds with a rich light that receding as he wandered, waiting, checking his watch here and there.

8pm rolled around and Shane took one last glance around the circus behind him before entering the big tent. Immediately he was cocooned in humidity, animal smells mixed with sugar and oil and sweat, dust, dirt, old wood. He hadn’t been in a circus for a long time, probably not since he was a child, long enough that he wasn’t distracted by nostalgia. He walked out onto the edge of the ring, looked up at the tiers of benches erected around the edges of the tent and found himself a space in the front row, which was largely empty. He wanted to get a close look at everything on offer.

The sound of blaring trumpets erupted into the tent from unseen speakers, just a little tinny, and the acts began. Trapeze artists swung over the highest parts of the tent like graceful birds, contortionists twisted themselves in ways no body should, a couple of animals were paraded about. He watched the rest, and waited until the music, the shouting, the cheering died down to a calmed lull, a space between the acts opened up.

Over the speakers came the announcement Shane had been waiting for - their resident psychic, ‘Akitoshi’.

A man of perhaps average height entered, who ticked the ‘ethnically ambiguous’ box though the circus were clearly pushing towards the ‘east asian’ end of things. He was wearing a long, deep blue robe that shimmered under the lights that appeared to be traditionally Japanese to Shane’s untrained eye, over a loose white buttoned shirt tucked in at the front into his tapered pants in the same colour as the robe. Shane’s eyes followed the man’s movements, saw the way the shirt was undone to the third button to bare a bronze throat and chest. Probably a distraction technique. The man was, without a doubt, attractive; his sharp cheekbones, eyes that appeared tar black in these lights, hair that made Shane want to touch.

Then again, that could be the fact that Shane was thirsty on main.

It was a breath of fresh air from the archetype of fortune tellers and psychics - heavily lined eyes, sleek hair - usually a wig - or a headdress, gaudy patterned cloths of, reportedly, far flung origins. This man looked clean cut down to the Zori-type sandals that showed his fine-boned feet covered in a fine dust from the floor. He strode smoothly across the ring that had been swept out after the animal acts, appearing to soak up the atmosphere of the tent, the captive audience. A stage hand of sorts brought out a single wooden chair, a table and some psychic paraphernalia - a crystal ball set in the centre over the table cloth that ‘Akitoshi’ placed the tips of his fingers on gently, reverently, and spun half a quarter clockwise before leaving alone.

Shane had a good guess of how this was going to go; the man would choose younger women as his subjects, girls who would have easy-to-guess tells and who wanted to impress or agree with him instinctually thanks to his good looks. The predictions would be basic, generalised enough that it could apply to at least 50% of the people in the tent. Shane would leave disappointed, the only interesting aspect of the show being the psychic’s good looks. He might not even have enough interesting material to make a blog post out of.

Surprisingly, the man’s voice was smooth, American accent ringing true, not layered with false mysticism or attempts at being overly cryptic. His expressions were pleasant, welcoming, and he spoke to the crowd in a way that exuded confidence and experience. The response was immediate; all the laughs came at the right time, the audience were clearly warming to Akitoshi. He asked for a volunteer to be ‘read’, and several hands flew up. Shane waited, deciding not to push to be the first. He wanted to see what this was all about.

The lights dimmed to a spotlight that illuminated a circle around Akitoshi’s set up. Shane watched a girl perhaps in her early twenties with wavy brown hair and big eyes stumble down from the stairs and accept an arm from the psychic, flushing brightly under the dull lights as she was lead to the seat that the stagehand had set out. The psychic stood on the other side of the table and watched her for half a second, before asking for her name - Anya.

“Thanks for volunteering, Anya. Let me ask - do you believe in psychics? Mind readers, clairvoyants,” Akitoshi explained, hand fluttering around in delicate, expressive movements. Anya seemed to hesitate before nodding, clearly uncertain. The psychic smiled. “So you didn’t, until last year or so. What made you start to believe?”  
“I… Um, my mom took me to a psychic when I started to experience… Weird things. And they told me things I had never told, well… Anyone.”

Akitoshi hummed, nodding as he considered his next answer. Shane expected he would try and probe more answers about those ‘weird things’ out of her and then exploit that information.

“Did they stop? The weird things,” the psychic pressed, leaning over the table. Anya shivered, and shrugged.  
“Mostly.”  
“Do you see your grandmother, still? She believed, didn’t she? So does your mom. You thought they were crazy, but your granny, she visits you still.”

Anya pursed her lips and nodded, seeming near tears. Shane frowned; talking about dead loved ones, that seemed cruel to do in front of so many people. He almost wanted to interrupt, to put a stop to this, but he didn’t think it would be well received, and he’d lose his chance at getting a first hand experience of this.  
Akitoshi must have looked this up or something, or maybe the girl was a plant in the audience who would just agree with whatever the guy said, build up the crowd’s confidence. But she seemed sincere, and shaken.

“Anya, do not be afraid. Your grandmother is trying to open your eyes. She misses you. When you go home, make her favourite chai, the way she liked it, and sit down. She’ll come to you.”

Anya quivered, sobbed quietly before pushing a watery smile and rising from her seat, sensing her turn was over. Surprising everyone, including Shane, she threw herself at the psychic and hugged him, and Akitoshi returned it with ease. Maybe he was used to that. Maybe it was planned.

Once Anya had returned to her seat, Akitoshi turned to the audience and spoke to them about the ways of the third eye, of how he could read anyone’s minds if he so wished. He spoke of knowing when someone didn’t want him to know about something, and how anyone who volunteered would be safe with him - he wouldn’t expose any secrets best left alone. When he called for another volunteer, many hands came up again, but not so many, as if in fear of being truly known. Shane snorted, raised his hand, but wasn’t noticed - someone else was called down, and the routine began again.

This one, it was uncovered, had been looking for love but hadn’t found it yet. Just the day before he’d had an embarrassing experience on a date, but Akitoshi didn’t feel it would be fair to tell everyone about that. This coaxed several laughs out of the audience, and the man blushed darkly and chuckled along with them, sheepish. The advice given this time was to learn to enjoy himself, rather than being self conscious and forcing himself through countless dinners in the same circuit of restaurants.

Two more volunteers came and went, and Akitoshi announced they were running out of time, there would only be time for one more volunteer. Shane had been overlooked each time, and this time didn’t wait for it to happen again. As the psychic asked for volunteers, Shane rose to his feet and the pair made immediate eye contact; it was like the other man had known Shane was going to do that, had been anticipating it. He gestured to the chair, bowing his head courteously as he waited for his newest subject to take a seat.

“You’re eager,” Akitoshi commented mildly, a little derisive if Shane was hearing correctly, a smirk playing around his mouth. Shane tilted his head to the side.  
“I guess so. Just can’t wait to have my mind read,” Shane returned, sounding snarky even as his eyes crinkled at the corners in mirth.  
“And read it I will,” the psychic agreed, completely amicable. “I’m guessing you’re not a believer. If you like, you can try to, I don’t know, steel your mind against me - make me work for it.”

As he spoke the last words, his eyes darkened imperceptibly, his voice dropping a register. Shane was aware of some of the people in the stands leaning forward, trying to listen when Akitoshi’s voice quietened. Something in Shane’s stomach tightened at the overt flirting, straightening himself a little. He didn’t want to get flustered, because he figured that was some kind of technique this guy used to get a better look at less flappable customers. It was hard not to, though, with that kind of gaze levelled on him.

“So, Shane,” drawled the mind reader, circling around the chair before stopping in front of him again, steepling his fingers under his chin. “You wanted to prove I’m a fake, right?”

There was a ripple of confusion throughout the tent, people wondering just how this man could know the guest’s name. He hadn’t been able to do that with any of the others, had always asked for their name before he got going. Even Shane quirked a brow, a little surprised. Akitoshi laughed, baring perfect teeth.

“I watch your Youtube,” the psychic explained, waving away the curious noises surrounding them. “It’s pretty good. You’re right, you know; most of us are fakes. But you’ll have a harder time with me.”

Even as Shane resisted him, he felt himself being drawn into the psychic’s grip. He was enigmatic, charming, almost frustratingly so. He gritted his teeth before relaxing himself, flattered that a man as, well, interesting as this watched his videos.

“I’m glad you think I’m interesting, too,” Akitoshi smiled, and Shane almost wanted to blush. This was clear flirting, wasn’t it? Probably just to get him to give himself away, though. The guy was good, Shane would give him that. “Anyway. Let’s get into it.”

Shane almost wanted to try and ‘steel’ his mind like the psychic had suggested, feeling like he was actually being read in some way - maybe by body language, or by the way his eyes moved - but then felt ridiculous for even considering that. There was nothing for him to hide from, he just had to stay calm, not let himself be put off kilter by a good looking man pretending to be a psychic. 

“Shane, you had a hotdog and candy floss before you came in here. You decided to come after getting one of the circus fliers through your door. You read it while eating breakfast - mainly just drinking orange juice,” Akitoshi ticked off like he was reading from a list, but this was nothing that Shane couldn’t put down to guesswork or having seen him out on the grounds before coming in here. “You live alone, with your cat.”

“You could have found that out from my Youtube videos, or blog,” Shane pointed out, and the psychic laughed and shrugged in agreement.  
“I could have.”  
“But you want me to think that you didn’t?” Shane asked, smirking to himself. He might have found a hole in the guy’s armour - he was just playing confident.  
“I don’t mind what you think, Shane. This is all for fun. It’s a circus, you know?”  
“Am I taking it too seriously?” Shane teased, and Akitoshi laughed.

“Okay, let’s do this old fashioned. Think of something, and I’ll read your mind and tell you,” the psychic suggested, and Shane smirked and held his hands up in assent. When he was given the signal, he started to pick through his mind for things that would be hard to guess.

After a pause, with the audience watching them with bated breath, Shane settled on something and looked up into Akitoshi’s eyes, challengingly. The psychic stared back, calm and self assured.

“Spaghetti.”

Shane snorted and nodded, pretending to clap. The audience burst out into laughter, clapping along with him, singing the psychic’s praises. If there had been any in the crowd who didn’t believe before, they seemed to have been convinced. Shane didn’t count himself among them - it was just luck, he supposed. He needed something harder to guess, something Akitoshi wouldn’t expect. He considered his options.

“Apple taters,” Akitoshi laughed, and everyone else laughed with him. Shane frowned for a moment, before supposing he might have mouthed it or something. Whatever. He studied the psychic, who he had noted had a nice laugh, high pitched kind of, infectious. He felt distracted.

Sweat dotted the exposed skin of his throat and collar bones, beading delicately on his sternum. His cheeks were slightly flushed with the warmth of the room, and the shirt he wore clung to him just slightly. Shane repressed a shiver, repressed the want to truly stare, to let his gaze linger on this man that ultimately, he didn’t trust, but found so attractive regardless. He wanted to treat the psychic with distaste, but Shane felt himself being pulled into his web. It was impossible.

“Bronze,” the psychic called out so that the whole room could hear. Shane pursed his lips, frustrated. He wasn’t supposed to be able to get this so quickly. Shane was supposed to have the upper hand. “Blue,” he added, almost as soon as Shane’s mind had settled on it. “Silk.” A pause. “Taste.”

Some of the crowd had leaned so far forward in their seat they were nearly standing, waiting for Shane to give in, or for Akitoshi to make a mistake. Shane sighed, pinched his fingers over the bridge of his nose and wondered how he was supposed to catch this guy out. Everything he had thought had felt random, he didn’t think there had been a pattern… And yet he was being read so easily, and he didn’t know how to stop it.

He looked up into the psychic’s face again, this time clearing his mind before he recalled the one thought that had been persistent throughout all of this. Akitoshi met his gaze, watched him come to a decision on what he wanted to be read, and then raised his brows, almost incredulously.

It was clear that everyone was waiting to hear what Shane had thought, that had made the psychic look so surprised. Shane watched as the man regarded him, curiously, before an intrigued, almost hungry smile pulled at the corners of his mouth. Then, he leaned down and Shane took in his scent - musk, spices, a sweet undertone. His mouth so close to Shane’s ear that his breath felt like a humid whisper over his skin. He kept his voice low, so low that no one but Shane could hear, and Shane felt every hair on his body stand up.

“I want you, too.”  
People were starting to bristle in the audience, bored from the quiet, from not knowing what was going on. So, like any good showman would, Akitoshi straightened up and turned to them, a generous smile on his face, kind and warm and likeable.

“Shane wasn’t thinking anything at all, surprisingly. I got a little confused,” he explained, sheepish, and the audience laughed and joked between themselves. Shane relaxed, realised his cue to return to his seat on the bench, and stood, brushing past the psychic just slightly, feeling the man’s warmth on his skin as he did. They shared a glance as Shane settled down on the bench again, before proceeding with his ending speech.

As the crowds began to filter out through the tent entrance, Shane stood and stuffed his hands into the pockets of his slacks, wondering if he had imagined some kind of invitation to stay as Akitoshi milled around assisting with moving the table, chairs and other bits and pieces from the ring. Right as Shane was about to leave as well, to avoid making a fool of himself, he felt a hand on the crook of his elbow, firm and guiding.

“You didn’t imagine it. Come on.”

Out the back entrance to the tent, the grounds were dotted with trailers, some lit up and some dark. Shane guessed these must be where the performers and such stayed while the circus was in season, as he was lead towards one off to one side, a bigger one, more spacious than many of the ones they had passed on the way. Akitoshi pulled keys out of a pocket somewhere and unlocked the door, going in first and turning on the lights.

Shane was surprised at how nice the place looked, though it didn’t look like somewhere that people lived. There were no beds, only rows of dressing tables, wardrobes, and one area near the far side curtained off with heavy looking draperies. Akitoshi turned to him and grinned.

“What, you think I live here? This is the dressing room,” he laughed. “I’m Ryan, by the way.”

Shane’s eyebrows raised in clear surprise, not because he had expected that Akitoshi was Ryan’s real name, but because he hadn’t expected to be given his actual name. It was probably a good thing, because he didn’t know that he could pronounce Akitoshi without embarrassing himself. Ryan smirked up at him as he headed to one of the vanities, grabbing a tissue from by the mirror and wiping the sweat from his brow.

“So, you really don’t believe?” he asked, as he sat down and started to remove the makeup he’d applied prior to performing. Shane watched him attentively, full of want, full of confusion and disbelief. This kind of thing didn’t happen to him, especially not on the job. If he weren’t self employed, he might have qualms about being unprofessional.  
“What, that you can read my mind? No, not at all,” Shane shrugged, grinning. Ryan snorted.  
“Even after all of that, in the tent?”  
“You probably led me to think of certain things, or had some lucky guesses. Maybe I mouthed one or two of them, if you can lip read.”  
“I cannot, in fact, lip read,” Ryan sighed. “You were easy to read, though. You thought of whatever you were looking at. My clothes, my mouth,” he paused, putting down his face wipe, hand touching his chest. “My skin.”

Shane felt himself gulping, embarrassed to have been caught out so easily. It did kind of back up his argument, though, that he had been so overtly staring - it made it less plausible that Ryan had somehow truly read his mind.

 

“You’re a tough one,” Ryan added, out of the blue. “I mean, I don’t know what the hell apple taters are, but you’ve clearly been trying to catch me out.” He stood from his chair and shed the robe, the silk spilling from his shoulders like water. Shane felt his breath hitch. “You’re really confident that it’s all bullshit. It’s frustrating, your skepticism. It makes me want to, uh…” he considered, flexing his fists. “I want to break you, really.”

Shuddering, Shane looked down at Ryan inquisitively, not sure if he was more nervous or turned on. He didn’t believe that Ryan could truly read his mind - that was impossible - but he almost wanted to believe, looking into his eyes, feeling the heat of him as he stood so close. Ryan bit his lip and smiled minutely, making Shane feel like he’d given something away, made himself look stupid.  
“I know you want to believe,” he murmured, stepping forward so that Shane stepped back reflexively. They continued until Shane’s back bumped into the rickety doors of one of the closets, Ryan so close their chests were almost touching. “Think of something. Think of me. Think of what you want me to do, and I’ll do it.”

Shane had no idea what he was supposed to say, just stared back at Ryan, looked at his mouth, the way he wet it with the point of his tongue. He looked delicious, but Shane wanted the truth.

“Let me in, and I’ll tell you anything,” Ryan whispered, mouth so close Shane could taste him on the air. And god, he wanted to know, and he wanted… 

Well, he wanted this. No lack of belief would stop that.


End file.
